Elizabeth
by docZo
Summary: Contractverse story; specifically, a take-off on "Pencils are Dangerous" that focuses on the perspective of Elizabeth, the therapist. Premise is House was tortured for 5 yrs; now Wilson is caring him, nursing him back to psychological and physical health.
1. A New Case

Elizabeth.

A/N: _This is a __Contractverse__ story; specifically, a take-off on __Pencils are Dangerous__ that focuses on the perspective of Elizabeth, the therapist. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and really my first attempt at any kind of fiction since childhood, so please be gentle, but give lots of constructive feedback so I can improve. Also, I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this, so let me know whether you think it's worthwhile._

"I've got a new case for you," John, my supervisor said. "Great!" I said excitedly, before noticing the unusually serious look on his face. It was my second week on the job, and I was eager to build up a caseload, and eager to prove myself.

"This is… Well, this is a man who's been through an awful lot," he began, as I settled in his plush chair for our weekly supervision session. Most of our patients had experienced some type of trauma, but it was clear from John's grave tone that this was somehow different. "He was referred by a friend of mine, Dr. James Wilson. The patient… well, you've probably heard about him on the news—Dr. Gregory House?"

He paused, looking for recognition, as I searched my memory.

John continued, "He's the one who was accused of killing Alison Cameron, and was recently exonerated. The one who had been tortured by Thompson's clan."

"Oh, yeah, I did hear about that. It sounded like the torture was pretty severe. Pretty horrific, actually," I recalled.

"Yeah, it was. James saw the x-rays. One hundred improperly healed breaks on his right hand alone. The rest of his body was pretty similarly mangled. His eyes were literally stabbed out of his head with a pencil."

I cringed. This felt like a horror story. Couldn't possibly be real.

John continued, "They also broke his eardrums multiple times. He's now both blind and deaf. And they starved him. When they found him, he looked like a concentration camp victim. On the rare occasions they fed him, they kicked him in the stomach until he threw up, and then made him eat the vomit." I closed my eyes and shook my head, feeling a bit nauseous myself. I wanted to tell John to stop, but I told myself that if this man could endure years of experiencing the torture, certainly I could endure 5 minutes of hearing about it. "When they found him, he was on the brink of death. Hypothermic, malnourished, with pneumonia and multiple infections. He was in the prison hospital for two weeks, and then in the ICU at Princeton Plainsboro for a month. They really didn't think he would survive. But of course, the worst part was psychological. Do you remember how they got him to submit to this, how they got him to confess to Cameron's murder?"

"Um…" I said, trying to recall.

"They drew up a contract. Thomson's lawyer, Nate Archibald drew it up. It basically stipulated that if House didn't submit to their 'punishment'"—John drew quote marks in the air—"they would kill his best friend, James Wilson. Later, the names of other people he cared about were also added to the contract. So basically, if House did anything to try to fight back or escape the torture, if he did anything besides basically beg for more, they would kill one of the people he cared about most. If he told any of them about the contract, same thing. So for 5 years, as House was experiencing continual torture, he had no expectation that it could ever end. In fact, he could scarcely even _hope_ that it would end, because that would mean that his friends would die. Thompson even threatened to kill Wilson if House died, so House couldn't commit suicide if it became too much. Ironically, I guess that must have been what gave him the strength to survive."

"_My God_," I breathed. I was stunned not only by the horrific nature of the torture, but also by House's strength of spirit. I didn't think I would ever be able to survive such of thing. They would have broken me. I would have given up, given in, attempted suicide, _something_, and my friends would be dead. And John was right—it was definitely the "no end" aspect that was the worst.

After a moment, I asked, "How is he doing now?"

"Good question. I'm not sure how you'll find him. Greg House would have been a difficult man to treat before all this. He was known for being a jerk, for keeping people at arms length. He was a Vicodin addict, never accepted treatment, and was vocal about his contempt for psychiatry and psychology. I'm not sure whether any of this has changed, or whether his defenses have only solidified. But I guess the more pressing issue, immediately, is communication. As I mentioned, he's now both blind and deaf."

"Oh, right. How does he communicate, then?"

"Well, actually, that's part of the problem. James has been trying to figure out how to communicate with him. And he's not even sure if House is all there. Intermittently, he seems like he might be catatonic, not moving or responding to touch. Although it's hard to tell, of course, given the lack of communication. It's not clear why he's not talking, or if he knows where he is. He frequently has what appears to be flashbacks, where he dives into a corner, curls himself into a ball, hyperventilates, and shakes. James has been trying to soothe him with touch, and has been giving him Ativan injections when the physical reassurance isn't enough."

"It must be especially hard to ground yourself back in reality when you can't see, can't hear, and can't communicate," I commented.

"Exactly. There are signs he knows who James is though, as he often clings to him for comfort. He also seems to respond well to his nurse, Clarence. I recommended you to James because he thought House might respond better to a woman, since his tormenters were all men. Plus, James wanted someone who could do home visits."

I nodded.

John continued, "So I guess, the first part of the challenge will be to find a way to communicate with him. And to help James and Clarence to do so too."

"Have they tried fingerspelling into his hand, like they did with Helen Keller?" I asked, wondering if I would have the chance to put my sign language training to use.

"I'm not sure, but that's not a bad idea."

"Hm… although if I just start spelling letters into his hand, he might not get what I'm doing…" I continued, thinking out loud. "Although if his intellect is still intact, and if he's as smart as we've heard… if I repeat the alphabet a couple times over, he might get the idea." 

"Maybe…" John said, also thinking.

"But it would be better if there was something self-explanatory, so that I could immediately let him know who I am, and that he's safe… I could use my finger to draw letters on his skin, but that can be hard to discern under the best of circumstances, and we don't know if he's suffered nerve damage. Maybe some kind of raised letters, like self-explanatory Braille, if the letters were large enough to trace even with reduced sensation…"

"My daughter has these refrigerator magnets…" John said.

"Oh, that's perfect! I'll pick some up at the store. And then I could use those to teach him the alphabet in ASL, for faster communication."

"Excellent. Sounds like you'll be off to a great start. Here's James's number"—he handed me a slip of paper—"give him a call as soon as you can to set up the appointment."

"I'll do it right now." I got up to leave, as our hour was over, and I had heard John's next patient enter the waiting room.

Back at my own office, I closed the door, took a deep breath. This would certainly be quite the case. I dialed the number, and after a few rings, a male voice said "Hello?"

"Hi, is this James Wilson?"

"Yes…"

"Hi, this is Dr. Elizabeth Manning. You spoke to my director, Dr. Morrison?"

"Oh, yes, thanks for getting back to me so quickly."

"No problem. So, I'd like to set up a first appointment. What does your schedule look like? I mean, you and Dr. House?"

"Hm, well, I'd like to do it when I'm home, if possible. Do you have any time on Fridays?"

"Sure, I have 1:00 open, if that works." Tomorrow would be Friday. "Would you like to start tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that would be really great."

"Okay, in that case, I'll see you then."

"See you then."


	2. Meeting House and Wilson

As I drove through the back roads towards the Wilson and House residence, I tried to prepare myself for the session. After what John had told me, I felt an enormous sense of responsibility to help Dr. House, and I wasn't sure if I was up to the job.

Relax, Elizabeth, I told myself. Today is only the first session. You're not expected to cure him immediately; today, it will be a big step if you can just establish communication. And maybe begin to make a connection, help him feel safe with you. You're good at that; this is your strength.

I pulled my car into their driveway, took a deep breath, and approached the front door, refrigerator magnets in toe. I knocked, and a man opened the door.

"Hi, you must be Dr. Manning?"

"Yes, call me Elizabeth, if you'd like."

"And you can call me James. Come in."

I entered the living room to find an inflatable children's pool, filled not with water, but with blankets and pillows, with a man lying among them, curled up in a fetal position, facing away from the door.

"Since he spent his prison days lying on a cold floor, we thought the soft blankets and pillows might help let him know he is safe now," James explained. "Plus, he's so thin now, and the pillows help keep the pressure off his bones."

I approached slowly, taking in the battered man in front of me. His skeletal body did indeed bear resemblance to a concentration camp victim, and I could see his somewhat crooked spine through his tee-shirt. Scars crisscrossed the majority of his body. I stepped beside him, crouching just outside of the pool, and saw his face, also crisscrossed by scars, with skin pulled tight across it. His closed eyelids covered what I knew to be empty sockets. Tentatively, I reached out my hand and gently touched the top of his.

With a start, Dr. House threw himself out of the wading pool, landing with what must have been a painful crash onto the carpet. The pain must not have registered, though, because he immediately began scrambling into the other room. It was an awkward crawl, on his elbows, with his right leg dragging behind, yet somehow Dr. House was able to make it into the other room quite rapidly. I hesitated a moment, and then followed James, who was following Dr. House.

The bedroom had a queen size bed in the center, but Dr. House was curled up on an air mattress in the far left corner. He was hyperventilating and pressing himself into the wall, as if trying to disappear into it. I started to approach, but James motioned for me to stay back. He grabbed a lock box, sat down gingerly next to his friend, and put his hand on his shoulder. Dr. House clutched at James's shirt, his body shuddering with what looked like sobs, although he hardly made a sound. James pulled his friend close and rubbed his back, speaking soothingly. "It's OK, House, I'm here, you're safe now, nobody's going to hurt you; I'm not going to let anybody hurt you anymore…"

James knew as well as I did that Dr. House couldn't hear him, but of course, it was only natural to want to say those things anyway. Slowly, as James continued to rub his back, Dr. House's sobs and heavy breathing slowly beginning to subside. "That's it, House, relax, I'm here, it's ok…" Dr. House swallowed, and James gently helped him to lay down and covered him with a blanket.

Standing by the door, I felt a catch in my throat, feeling so moved by this obviously very loving friendship.

James looked up at me. "That wasn't such a bad one. At least he didn't need the Ativan this time."

I nodded. "I'm sorry I scared him."

"No, no. Unfortunately, this happens all the time." James stood up.

"I was hoping we could try this, to facilitate communication with him." I walked over to James, showing him the plastic bag of refrigerator magnets.

"Oh, that's a great idea!"

"We could give it another try—or do you think it would be too much for one day?"

I trusted James to know Dr. House's needs better than I did at this point.

"Um, normally I'd want to let him rest, but… I am really eager to try to communicate with him, to know if he's… you know.. in there." James's voice cracked a little on the last few words. "Besides," he said, seeming to pull himself together, "it actually may be a good day for it. He's seemed more responsive to me."

"Let's give it a go then," I said, sitting down on the floor in front of Dr. House. James sat too, and I held gave him the bag of magnets. "Why don't you give it a go; I feel like you should be the one to talk to him first."

Slowly, letter by letter, James spelled out HI HOUSE ITS ME WILSON. I silently wondered whether James was going slowly because he was afraid Dr. House might _not_ be "in there." Gently, James touched Dr. House's shoulder and then, as he began to stir, rubbed circles on his back, murmuring to him. He then slowly slid his hand down Dr. House's arm, gently took his hand, and guided it to the first "H" on the floor. Dr. House ran his hand over the first letter, knocking it a little out of place.

"In the future, you could use a metal tray or something so they don't move around," I commented, and James nodded.

Dr. House continued to feel the letters one by one. As soon as he got to the end, he began to rearrange them. Tears began to run down James's face as the message began to emerge: ITS HOUSE HI WILSON. As soon as Dr. House put the last "N" in place, James began simultaneously sobbing and laughing, and he grabbed his friend in a hug. Dr. House, for his part, could not reach his mangled arms around James's back, so he just clung to the front of his shirt and leaned into him, and the two of them crying and rocking together. Tears stung my own eyes as I looked on, feeling the depth of their bond and the strength of James's relief.

Suddenly, Dr. House pushed James away with a terrified look on his face. He reached for the letters but then stopped, beginning to hyperventilate. James began to rub his back again, murmuring, "What's wrong? It's okay, buddy, you're safe…"

As he did so, I grabbed the letters and wrote out ITS OK YOURE SAFE NOW. James guided his friend's hand to the beginning. Dr. House manually read the message and then emphatically shook his head no.

"He doesn't believe us," I said.

James spelled out THOMPSON IS DEAD. Upon reading this, Dr. House looked up at us with what appeared to be relief tinged with uncertainty.

SURE, he wrote, giving a questioning look.

POSITIVE, James replied.

THE LAWYER, Dr. House asked.

GUATEMALA.

Now Dr. House gave an audible sigh of relief. James pulled him in for another embrace. TIRED, Dr. House spelled out.

GO TO SLEEP BUDDY

IM GLAD YOURE BACK

Dr. House nodded, and James eased him onto his back and covered him with a blanket. "Really glad," James murmured.

After a moment, James turned, seeming to remember I was still sitting next to him. "Thank you," he said.

I smiled and nodded. "I guess I'll introduce myself next time. You can tell Dr. House I was here, if you want." I was feeling a little guilty that he hadn't known I was present for the emotional exchange.

"Maybe," James replied. "Although it might just serve to embarrass him. By the way, just call him 'House.' Everyone else does."

"House, got it." I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder.

"Thanks again," James said, as we walked towards the door.

"No problem. Same time next week?"

"I'll see you then."

That night, I found myself tossing and turning. I had felt so moved by the strength of the connection between these two men. And I felt lucky to have witnessed it, yet a bit like an intruder. Strangely, I even felt a bit envious of their bond. I had close friends of my own, but what James and House had was really special. In a sense, both had given up their life for the other. House, by submitting to Thompson's torture, and now James, by devoting his life to caring for House. Would I give up my life for my closest friends? Would they, for me? I chastised myself for the feeling of envy, knowing how awfully these men had suffered. Now, my mind flashed between images of House's torture and images of a lonely and helpless James. I turned over again and tried to shake these thoughts from my mind, knowing they would not be conducive to a restful sleep. I reflected on the complexity of my emotions and realized that James must be experiencing a multitude of potentially confusing feelings. Love, anger, guilt, relief, fear—just to name a few. I wondered if he had anyone to talk to. _Think about it tomorrow, _I told myself firmly_._ _You can't figure it all out tonight._ I turned over again and, forcing myself to focus on the soft comfort of my bed and pillow, I finally drifted off to sleep.


	3. Phone Call

**A/N:** Thank you to all who have read and reviewed so far. I'm still not sure how long I'll be able to keep this up, but your comments have pushed me to continue for at least a little longer. A short bit for now; more to come.

The following morning, as I was sitting at my desk catching up on some paperwork, the phone rang.

"Dr. Manning," I said as I picked it up.

"Well, that didn't last long." I noticed the amusement in the voice before I could recognize the caller.

"James?"

"Yeah. First thing House asked me this morning was who the woman was yesterday. So of course I explained, and of course he immediately rejected the idea of having a therapist."

"You sound kind of… _happy_ about that."

"Well, it's just that it's so _House_. You still can't keep anything from him. And refusing a therapist, well, that's nothing new either."

"You must be relieved to have your friend back."

"Yeah. Exactly… I do feel kind of guilty though, for trying to hide your presence from him."

"Yeah…" I restrained myself from trying to absolve James's guilt, since I thought we kind of _should_ feel guilty.

"I'm worried, too," James continued. "I know he really needs therapy, after what he's been through. But since he had no control over his life for the past 5 years, I want him to be able to make his own choices now."

"You'd make a good therapist. Those were exactly the issues I was just considering."

"I was thinking, maybe you could still come on Friday, and we could discuss his care, and maybe eventually, he'll get tired of being talked about behind his back and decide to join in."

"That's a really good idea. I'll introduce myself, keep making myself available, and maybe eventually he'll come around."

"OK, he's pretty stubborn though."

"OK, I'll consider myself warned. I'll see you Friday then, at 1?"

"See you then."


	4. Take 2

**A/N:** _And, a teensy bit more._

"Hi, Elizabeth, come on in."

"Thanks."

"House is in his room." James gestured for me to follow him. "As you can see, we've made ample use of your refrigerator magnet idea." The wall behind the air mattress was covered in a silver paint, apparently magnetized. The refrigerator magnets on the wall told an amusing story, in telegraphic form, about a patient who was absolutely _convinced_ her mosquito bite was a cancerous growth. House, holding a metal tray with an alphabetized set of magnetic letters and punctuation, was engrossed in composing his reply. Beside him was a second set of alphabetized magnets, as well as a blank tray.

"I'll just leave you guys alone?" asked James.

"Sounds good."

He closed the door, and I sat down and composed my introduction on the blank tray: "HI, IM ELIZABETH, PSYCHOLOGIST"

I handed the tray to House, who quickly replied, "I SAID NO THERAPIST"

"Y?"

"NOT CRAZY"

"I KNOW. BUT WHAT YOU'VE BEEN THRU"

"DONT WANT TO TALK ABT IT"

"NOT UNTIL YOURE READY"

"NEVER"

"OK." I still hoped at some point he would be ready, but there was no sense in pushing it now. "CAN STILL HELP W/ OTHER THINGS, LIKE COMMUNICATION OR DEALING W THINGS THAT SCARE YOU"

"IM FINE" We both knew he wasn't. House added, "WILSON NEEDS IT MORE"

"I CAN HELP HIM TOO"

"GO HELP WILSON"

"OK. IF U EVER DO WANT TO TALK, ILL BE HERE FRI'S AT 1"

House nodded.


	5. Wilson

**A/N: **Random question for folks out there: I've noticed that in fanfics, Wilson is often referred to as "Jimmy," including by House. Why is this? I don't think I've ever heard him called "Jimmy" on the show. (I refer to him as "James" here as I imagine that would be how he would introduce himself to Elizabeth, though I always think of him as Wilson myself.)

The conversation with House had taken about 20 minutes. I walked into the living room, figuring I'd spend the rest of my time with James. He was busy at the table, attending to some bills, which he put down when I entered. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Pretty well. He still refused therapy, of course, but, well, I had the sense that decision isn't irreversible." It was a good thing House couldn't hear what I was saying. But I meant it—when I had indicated that House could change his mind, he hadn't objected or said he never would; he had just nodded.

"Well, I guess that's the best we could really hope for."

"Yeah. How have things been going?" I left the question deliberately vague so he could feel free to talk about how House was doing, or how he was doing taking care of House.

"Pretty well. I mean, it's much better now that we can communicate. And he's getting stronger every day."

"Yeah?" I asked. It was obvious that things weren't as rosy as James portrayed them. He looked exhausted.

"Yeah, I mean, of course, there's still a long way to go. He's still in a lot of pain—probably always will be—and he needs several operations if he's going to regain any mobility… and of course there's still the nightmares and flashbacks…" I could see the distress on James's face as he contemplated House's suffering, and then the shift as he again forced himself to again focus on the positive. "But you know, he's awake more hours each day, and he's starting to gain a little weight…"

"It must be really hard."

"No, I mean I'm glad to do it. As you said, I'm really relieved to have my friend back. And I can't forget that he suffered all those years for me, to save my life… I can't even begin to repay that. It's the least I can do, to be there for him now… he deserves so much more."

"You're really grateful to him."

"Of course! And, well, I really missed him."

"_That_ must have been really hard, when he was in prison."

James exhaled heavily. "You have no idea."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Heh… What, are you trying to be _my _therapist now?"

"Sorry... I mean, I was just wondering, do you have anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff?"

"Well, not really, I guess. I mean I don't really want to... most people wouldn't understand. I mean, I'm fine, really."

"Heh, you sound like House."

James just looked at me.

"I mean, you really want House to accept therapy, yet you're rejecting any help for yourself."

"Look," he said, sounding exhausted and a little annoyed. "I really wanted your assistance with helping House with his nightmares and flashbacks and stuff. If you can't help me with that…"

"No, no; I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to take away from helping you with that stuff. I actually do have some ideas to help you work with him, and we can definitely spend our time talking about that. I just—and I promise, this is the last thing I'll say about this—I just want to make sure that you're taking care of yourself, too. Because, I really do get how important it is for you to take care of House. I can see that the friendship you two have is something really special. So, I just want you to know that when I say you should take care of yourself, I don't at all mean to say you shouldn't be taking care of House, or should do so less. The two aren't mutually exclusive. In fact, I know it's cliché, but he really does need you to take care of yourself, so that you can continue to be there for him… Okay, end of lecture."

"Yeah, I do know I need to take care of myself. But right now, House needs care 24/7, and even with Clarence helping—that's his nurse—well, I just don't want to be away from him any more than I have to."

"Hm, well if that's the issue, I can come here, same as I'm doing for House. I mean—I'm just thinking out loud here—if House does eventually agree to therapy, as I'm hoping, there could be some drawbacks to you having the same therapist. Since you'll likely be talking about each other, it could get complicated. So, it might be better if I referred you to somebody else. But, well, if you don't have time to go see somebody else…"

"Yeah, I definitely don't, at this point."

"Okay, well how about this: I'll continue to come at the same time, and we'll just make the sessions longer, so we have plenty of time to talk about how to help him, and to talk about you. We'll be here, so you'll be available if House needs anything. And although I'll be working with both of you, of course I'll maintain confidentiality and not tell either of you what the other one talks about. And if at any point it's not working, we could always revisit the idea of referring one of you to a different therapist."

"Jeez, well, I'm still not so sure I even need therapy right now…"

"I know. But you don't even have to think about it as really therapy in the formal sense. I'll be here to help you with House, and I also happen to be someone who's ready to listen when you want to talk."

"Heh, you're kind of manipulative, you know." James smiled.

"I try my best… So, listen, unfortunately I can't extend our session for today, since I have another client scheduled. And I feel badly that we haven't gotten to talk about ideas for helping House. So maybe we should have a brief session early next week for that?"

"Well, I work 4 days a week… are you available in the evenings?"

"Yeah, I could do Monday at 6… I could even come to your office, if you like."

"No, I want to get home to House as early as possible."

"Makes sense. I'll come here at 6 then."

"Okay."

We stood up, and James walked me to the door.

"Have a good weekend," he said.

"You, too."

**A/N: **"Okay, end of lecture" is something my mom has said sometimes when realizing she's been going on for a long time about something. I always find it amusing, and the fact that she acknowledges it makes it hard to be mad. I'm imagining James found it hard to stay mad for the same reason (and because he knew Elizabeth was right, and he'd run out of excuses).


	6. The Key

**A/N: **_These chapters are all unbeta'd, and posted pretty much the second I finish typing them. I apologize for any errors._

When James answered the door, he looked—if it was possible—even more exhausted than the last time. His eyes were reddish, with puffy, dark circles underneath, and the lids seemed to hang at half-mast. He looked dazed, and his dress shirt was noticeably wrinkled.

"Hi, Elizabeth," he said. "House just laid down for a nap. We can talk in here." I followed him to the couch.

"How are you?" I asked cautiously. I wanted to ask a lot more, but I'd promised we'd focus on House this time, and I knew I'd need to stick to that if I wanted to earn his trust.

"I'm alright. I'm really eager to get your advice on helping House though. He's been having… a little bit of a tough time." I was sure that was putting it mildly.

"What's been going on?"

"Well, a lot of the time, he just seems kind of… well, numb. Just going through the motions of life. He used to have such fire, such passion, but now he just seems sort of… resigned." He paused for a moment, looking at his hands. "And then every time he's in a new situation, or something startles him, or something reminds him of prison—or sometimes for seemingly no reason at all—he just starts to panic. He just drops to the floor—which is really concerning, given his injuries—and curls in a ball, shakes, and hyperventilates. Sometimes I'm able to help him. He clings to my shirt as I calm him down. But other times, he just reacts to my touch like I'm another tormenter, and there's nothing I can do to let him know that he's safe now. He's just stuck in the flashback."

"You must feel so helpless."

James's eyes flashed fire. "I thought you were going to tell me how to help _House."_

I held up a hand placatingly. "I know, I'm sorry. Finish what you were saying, and then I do have some ideas.

"Anyway, the same thing continues at night, only with nightmares. Sometimes it's screaming, sometimes it's just silent shaking and hyperventilating—I can't decide which is worse. I sleep in his room so I can wake him when he starts to squirm, but even so, I can't always get there before it spirals to the point that he doesn't know who I am. And then the only solution is the Ativan."

I nodded. "Well, I'm sure you know that what you're describing is pretty classic PTSD, albeit at a pretty severe level." I thought it might help to normalize things a bit.

James flashed anger again. "If House were here, he would say 'Thank you, Captain Obvious.' … I'm sorry, it's just—what do I _do_ about it?"

"Well, it seems like you're already doing a lot to help House gradually fell safe again, and to pull him out of at least some of his flashbacks and panic attacks. So it sounds like the sticking point is just how to bring him back to reality when he's really deep in it."

James nodded and gestured impatiently.

"Well, I was thinking, maybe you and House could develop some sort of signal to remind him that he is _here_ now, not _there._ Like, maybe something he could hold that he wouldn't have had access to in prison, so that when he feels it, he knows that he is safe now. Like, maybe a key or something like that."

"It's really ironic that you should mention a key." Suddenly, Wilson looked like he was fighting back tears. "When the whole…thing, with Thompson started, before House went to prison, well, I of course didn't know what was going on. He pushed me away, and I let him. I had a key to his apartment, and I gave it to Cuddy to give back to him." James shook his head. "He must have thought I gave up on him." James wore a powerful expression of guilt. "Anyway, when he went to prison, I retrieved that key, among other things. I've been wondering if I should give it to him. I want him to know that I kept it, but at the same time, I don't want him to be reminded of that horrible experience. If I give it to him, he'll know immediately that it's _that_ key, because it has a _W_ carved into it."

"I think it could serve as a really powerful reminder of the fact that he's here now, and you're here for him now. And I think it would be really good for him to know that you kept it all this time."

What I didn't say was that I also thought it would be really good for James to give House the key. It would allow him to (implicitly or explicitly) apologize for giving the key up in the first place, and to let House know that he never really gave up on him. And Wilson would be able to see that House forgave him.

Wilson nodded thoughtfully, and then looked at his watch. "I need to get dinner started before House wakes up… Thanks," he said, looking into my eyes and seeming to really mean it. "I'll definitely give it a try this week."

I nodded and stood up. "See you Friday?"

Wilson agreed and walked me to the door.


End file.
